Chapter 37 – The Creative Authors
Now that the background of the game had been established and the players had prepared their character sheets with their consultants, Jade stood beside Mr. Raysmach and asked him for the opening line.
Mr. Raysmach did not answer at once. After a brief pause, he leaned closer and whispered, “Miss Lysmere, what would you suggest for the first scene?”
Jade lowered her voice in response. “Perhaps create a situation that forces everyone to gather in one place? It’s better if the characters start together and can interact. This is a game, after all. The players need to interact – with each other and with the story – so it can be fun.”
“You make a very good point, Miss Lysmere,” Mr. Raysmach rubbed his chin thoughtfully before addressing the room. “At the height of security, the Elf princess vanished. The Elf King suspects abduction – but by whom? The incident occurred at the worst possible time, for the Mother Tree had uprooted, and the tribe was in the midst of migrating toward their new homeland. News of the princess’s disappearance must not be made public, lest it draw unwanted attention. Therefore, the Elf guards have been dispatched in secret to search for any trace of her.”
He paused, allowing the image to settle before continuing. “And thus, Dandil Wheat – the Elf guard who had faithfully watched over the princess’s chamber – encounters Andrey Handsome, a travelling bard who has lost his way in the depth of the forest…”
The beginning was somewhat hesitant. This style of gameplay was new to everyone present.
They were accustomed to war games played over sprawling maps, where dice, troops, and strategy determined imaginary battles. They had played “Consequences”, scribbling fragments of stories onto folded slips of paper before unfolding them to reveal absurd, stitched-together narratives. They had played “What if?”, spinning tales from hypothetical prompts…
Storytelling games were not new. Nor were strategic adventures.
But this was something different.
Here, they could partially control a character and step into an unfolding tale crafted by a Game Master. It felt like weaving an epic saga together!
And it was also, at times, ridiculous – especially when a player deliberately attempted something outrageous, merely to test the boundaries of the system.
“For the clues suggest the princess is imprisoned within a realm hidden behind a tree,” the bard’s player said, rubbing his chin as a mischievous smile curved his lips. “I shall attempt to seduce the tree.”
“What? You can not do that!” the dwarf’s player exclaimed, her eyes widening. “That is–that is entirely improper!”
“That does not sound logical in the least.” The Elf guard’s player took a composed sip of her tea. “Surely your consultants would not endorse the squandering of a turn upon an action destined to fail.”
The bard’s player glanced toward his consultants. Several were already shaking their heads. However, his father – an author of historical adventure novels – regarded him with visible intrigue and gave a small, permissive shrug.
The boy pouted before turning to Jade. “Miss Lysmere, do you have any advice on how I might proceed?”
Jade answered politely. “Mr. Moosefield, you may attempt to persuade the Game Master to accept your strategy. The Game Master will then consider whether your proposal suits the established setting. If he finds it appropriate, may permit you to roll the dice.”
The bard player’s eyes lit up. Beside her, Mr. Raysmach steepled his fingers beneath his chin, clearly entertained. The Game Master appeared keen to see how the boy would attempt his argument.
And the bard’s player did not disappoint.
“As a bard,” He declared confidently, “I possess unparalleled charisma – so potent that any creature with senses or thought may be swayed in my favour. I propose that this is no ordinary tree, but rather a creature disguised as one, lying in wait to catch us unawares!”
Mr. Raysmach raised a brow. “A most interesting approach, young man. You have persuaded me. However, whether it proves to be a creature or merely a tree shall depend on your roll. Let us see what fate decides.”
The bard’s player cast the dice.
“It’s a five, sir,” Josh announced from where he stood at the side, assisting.
Mr. Raysmach inclined his head and declared without hesitation, “A five. Andrey Handsome successfully beguiles the tree. Though it is, in truth, nothing more than an ordinary tree – not a creature in disguise – which does rather raise the question of how a bard might charm something devoid of thought…” He allowed a faint smile. “Nevertheless, the tree trembles and reveals the hidden realm beyond…”
As the session progressed, the game began to flow smoothly even without Jade’s constant guide. She gradually stepped away from the Game Master’s side, helping players refill their character sheets and discreetly delivering secret notes to Mr. Raysmach.
To her astonishment, most of the paper consumption came not from the players, but from the consultants. They scribbled with fervour, seized by sudden inspiration, as though determined to produce an entire The Lord of the Rings on the spot. Jade glanced at one stack of pages that had already grown nearly an inch thick – and that was merely draft materials, perhaps nothing more than fleeting bursts of inspiration. If all of it were ever assembled into a proper book, imagine how thick it would be!
The wonders of handsome commission fees and unrestrained imaginations, huh. With that thought, Jade quietly instructed the servants waiting outside the parlour to prepare light refreshments and send a few attendants in to refill the guests’ drinks.
Mr. Raysmach proved himself an exceptional storyteller. The guests were thoroughly captivated. He managed the pacing with admirable precision and concluded the tale at precisely four o’clock, just as the invitation had indicated.
Although the players had successfully rescued the princess and secured a hopeful resolution among the three embattled races, several guests remained emotionally immersed in the story’s more tragic turns. The young lady who had played the Elf guard dabbed delicately at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief, visibly moved by the narrative.
Ashborne had not participated in the game. Instead, he had observed attentively, noting several adjustments to the rules.
At the conclusion, he rose and announced his proposed revisions. The guests engaged him in lively discussion regarding their suitability, and after some deliberation, consensus was reached. Soon, copies of the amended rules were being eagerly transcribed so that they might be shared with relatives and acquaintances.
“There is one more matter I should like to address,” Ashborne said, raising his voice slightly to draw the room’s attention from its excited chatter. Silence gradually fell. “The character sheets you have used today may be retained for future sessions – provided the setting permits and you are disinclined to devise an entirely new character.”
At once, the bard’s player clutched his character sheet to his chest, his bright expression making it abundantly clear that Andrey Handsome would return in another adventure.
“Futhermore,” Asborned continued, making a gesture as if pinching a thin slice of air, “your characters may accumulate experience and age accordingly as you participate in additional sessions.” His fingers moved outward, as though illustrating the paper’s gradual expansion. “Should a character survive across hundreds of sessions, that single sheet would become a chronicle of their life – their saga – perhaps even a memoir of a remarkable individual whose deeds inspire others.”
A guest gasped softly. “It is akin to writing a novel centred upon a character who continues to develop – only shaped through a semi-real experience.”
“Well… it does sound rather time-consuming,” another murmured, though clearly fascinated. “Yet undeniably intriguing.”
The atmosphere in the parlour was exceedingly pleasant. Conversations drifted through the room; several groups had already resolved to host private sessions in their own homes. Many praised Ashborne for arranging such a delightful gathering and for introducing a game capable of brightening an otherwise dreary winter.
“Oh, you must permit me to host you at my estate, Lord Ashborne,” one gentleman said, giving Ashborne a firm handshake. “Summer would be the perfect season to tour the waterfall in my parish. I can conceive of no better way to express my gratitude than to offer you a proper holiday.”
He lowered his voice. “And the lady who guided the game – she is its true inventor, is she not? I should be delighted to welcome her as well. If it is her intention, this game could earn her considerable favour within our circle. I would gladly speak highly of her.”
Ashborne shook his head. “She has no wish to advance herself through the game. Indeed, she expressly requested that it remain understated. As for your invitation, I fear she will be quite occupied until next autumn, so I must decline on her behalf. However, I should be most pleased to bring my sister to your estate.”
Sir Damian Hoxtow raised a brow. “She is the teacher who so boldly debated Dr. Hopspread, is she not? I had assumed a woman like that would wish to be known, but today, she hardly appears the sort to quarrel readily. Quiet, even.”
“She is usually the quiet kind and would rather not ignite a quarrel. But trust me,” Ashborne replied with a soft chuckle, “she would debate anyone if sufficiently provoked.” He paused. “Might we arrange a session at my estate next week? Your wife and cousins would be most welcome.”
“Next Wednesday?” Sir Damian suggested.
Ashborne agreed, and the matter was settled.
By five o’clock, after ample conversation and renewed acquaintance, the private gathering drew to a close.
One by one, cloaks and mantles fastened, the guests thanked Ashborne for his invitation. Standing by the entrance, he bid them farewell with composed courtesy. Jade did not approach. She had no desire to attract attention – and, more importantly, she was not the host. There was no reason for her to stand at the door as though she were.
Instead, she remained with Josh, tidying the materials and wiping clean the blackboard while Ashborne continued his farewells. Now and then, she overheard remarks drifting from the doorway.
“My lord, thank you for a most diverting afternoon. The game was truly a novelty.”
Good, Jade thought with a faint smirk. Now that he has a game to occupy him, and soon a stack of serial novels to keep him busy, I can finally be free to busy myself with the embroidery research and stay indoors for the entire winter!
As she gathered the unused papers, a lady approached her and spoke in a gentle tone. “Miss Lysmere, that was a remarkable story.”
Jade startled slightly, but managed to school her expression before offering a polite smile and a small curtsy. “Thank you, madam. I am most pleased that you enjoyed it.”
The lady studied her for a moment, still smiling, then excused herself to bid farewell to Ashborne.
Jade mentally revisited the list of authors, and at last matched the lady to one of the names. If her memory served her correctly, the lady was celebrated for her romance novels – Cinderella tales in which impoverished heroines married into noble houses. Unlike the original fairy tale, where Cinderella was technically the daughter of a gentleman, these heroines often hailed from truly modest or working-class origins.
Such novels were frequently mocked by the genteel, sneered at as shallow and trashy. And… well, sometimes that criticism wasn’t entirely unfair. They planted rather unrealistic fantasies in young girls – untalented and untrained girls who lacked alternative role models and might imitate whatever the heroine did in pursuit of “true love”. The newspapers had lately reported an increasing number of girls eloping to unsuitable suitors, much to the alarm of readers who had become parents.
“...” Jade exhaled silently, and mused, Please don’t get any inspiration from me and Ashborne, that feels so wrong in so many directions.